Messy
by Ziegod Lizski
Summary: There were three things Ginny Weasley could not believe. The first: that she was actually 20 years old. The second: that she had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy. The third: that she had managed to go two whole months without doing laundry.
1. Chapter 1

Messy: Chapter One

by Ziegod Lizski

There were three things Ginny Weasley could not believe. The first: that she was actually 20 years old. The second: that she had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy. The third: that she had managed to go two whole months without doing laundry.

Ginny, hair disheveled, inspected the pile of clothes that was spewing out of her closet--it seemed, in fact, to be taking on a life of its own. Perhaps the fermented sweat had given birth to new life forms (perhaps the Ministry would give her a medal, turn her flat into a magical wildlife reserve).

But today was not laundry day, and Ginny, as she did with most things in her life, put off the task to a later, unspecified date. Strangely, the blancmange of fetid clothing did not disgust her, or even cause her to hold her nose. She had grown used to the mess, and over the past few few months, had even grown attached to it, clung to it, as if it were a teddy bear, a stinky keepsake, some perverted touchstone. She fancied, in moments when she was given to poetic ruminations, that the dirty laundry was the dramatic embodiment of her tiny life: a mess. Because for Ginny--lately, at least--things were always messy.

Later that day, Ginny sat at her desk in the too-cold office, flexing her fingers in attempt to improve circulation and contemplating the stack of mail she had to sort. Deftly, she opened one of the letters, tapped the parchment with her wand and watched as the words "Past Due" bled onto the page in vivid red ink. Ginny, more than anything else at her job, loved the past due stamp. There was something very soothing about it. As if in a trance, she kept stamping the page with her wand--past due past due past due, all over the place until it was practically covered in red ink.

"Getting a bit carried away, are we?"

She looked up, and her stomach turned as if she were flying her broom in a steep descent. The eyes that met hers were the color of thick, dark smoke. Destructive.

"Hello, Weasley," said Draco.

Oh God, thought Ginny. How could she possibly look at Malfoy after seeing his penis. Penis, she thought. Penis penis penis.

"I'm here," he said with a smirk, "to see Mr. Toadle about the ad he's designing for me."

Penispenispenis.

"I would appreciate it if you let him know I'm here."

"Right," she said. Penis penis penis. Penis.

She stood for a moment, as if she'd lost her train of thought.

"Sometime this century, Weasel."

She nodded faintly and turned the corner into a dim hallway to fetch Mr. Toadle.

Penispenispenis.

Ginny had taken the job at Toadle & Stoole Advertising, Inc. thinking that it would be a great way to earn some money while exercising her creative instincts. She could turn the same disposition that made her doodle on everything she owned into a moneymaking machine. But over the past years she'd been working at T&S, the only thing that seemed to be running smoothly was her nose. Ms. Stoole, Toadle's partner in the business, was rumored to be suffering from severe menopause, which meant that the office was kept at what seemed to Ginny to be near-freezing temperatures. So, though it was the beginning of summer, Ginny was wearing a gamey woolen jumper over about four shirts and her robe, which gave a rather frumpy appearance to her otherwise slight frame. In all those clothes, she resembled a child dressing herself for the first time. Mismatched socks peeked out under her high-water jeans when she sat down.

And this is why it seemed so strange to Ginny that Draco had noticed--even, maybe, desired--the small girl burrowing under so many dirty layers.

Hello, friend. This story marks the end of a two-year hiatus from writing fanfiction, a long estrangement from my identity as Ziegod Lizski and from the personalization of worlds and words created by J.K. Rowling. I sure do hope this story is turning okay; I hope I haven't forgotten how to write fanfic; I hope I write gooder than I used to. I welcome all suggestions to improve this story and to where it should head.


	2. Visitor in Someone Else's Skin

Messy: Chapter 2

Author's Note: Special thanks to those who reviewed: Little-munchkin-poo, Pyro Symptoms Unleashed, lepeipei, Kim, mt-threat, Ashleigh, bouillbaise, Rialty, and lucygirl07.

There were two things Ginny Weasley had always assumed about Draco Malfoy. The first: that he hated her; the second: that he was probably gay, or at least bisexual. Remembering something Fred had said once ("When you assume, you make an ass of u and me"), Ginny knew now that her initial impressions of Malfoy had been wrong.

She remembered, with surprising clarity, that Friday night when she'd drunk—drank? Drinken? Drunken? Her conjugations were usually off—too quickly because she had felt so awkward. Truth was, Ginny had never really felt comfortable in her own body; she always felt as if she were a visitor in someone else's skin. And it didn't help that for the past couple years, her mother's rotund figure was creeping into her own. She could feel the hips ready to pop out at any second. She was glad, though, for the breasts, which was why she was afraid to lose too much weight, as her mammary glands might just retreat back into her chest cavity.

But now, in the bar, she tugged her shirt down over her love handles self-consciously, took the first tangy sip of her fourth fire whiskey and coke (nothing like muggle mixer and wizard alcohol), raised her eyes just slightly, and met the charry gaze of Draco Malfoy. She was so startled by the sight that her drink shot up and out of her nose. Nostrils burning, she saw through teary eyes a disgruntled-looking Malfoy, who sported a wet spot on his shirt from where the mixture of booze, soda, and snot had hit him.

"Did your nose just ejaculate, Weasley, or are you just happy to see me?"

And Ginny, being drunk and being Ginny, did the only thing she could do in this very embare-ass-ing situation—she started to laugh. And not polite chuckles but immense guffaws, straight from her belly. Just when she thought she was about to stop, she looked at Malfoy—wearing his stereotypical scowl—and burst out again. This did not have a very healthy effect on her stomach, which was filled with fire whiskey and bubbly soda.

And then she caught his gaze again. And held it. And something in it stilled her.

"Hi," she said. Because there was nothing else to say to someone she'd just snarfed all over. And he looked good—his natural handsomeness augmented through her beer goggles. A nice mix of musky cologne and sweat wafted toward her nose, a man smell that made her already unstable knees feel like jelly.

Things from there were a bit blurry.

She couldn't remember if they had both decided to leave. Maybe there was some sort of tacit agreement to "go somewhere quieter," but she did remember Malfoy tossing his arm around her shoulder and guiding her out into the night. How they got to his apartment was beyond her—she wasn't sure if alcohol impaired her ability to apparate. But they had gotten there all the same.

The next thing she remembered was sitting on Draco's swanky couch, kissing. Something strange came over her, and she bit his lip, hard.

She didn't remember much about Malfoy punching out her v-card, except that it hurt a lot. More than she thought it would. But it seemed fitting, in a way, to share such a painful moment with someone she'd always despised. And in her mind, anyway, she'd always somehow equated sex with hatred.

And after the 'dead was done,' he turned to her and said, "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

She shook her head weakly.

"This is not a big deal," he said, as if he were reassuring himself, as well. And Ginny, still drunk, fumbled around the room for her scattered clothes.

She couldn't remember if he hugged her or even showed her the door. But now, sitting in the chilly office, she could only remember stepping out into the street from Draco's house, feeling drained, empty, and lost—like she'd walked into a room and forgotten why she'd been there in the first place.

And as Draco turned the corner out of Mr. Spoole's office and past Ginny's reception desk, she had the vague sense of remembered purpose.


End file.
